Demon Dogs (Wildcat Wizard Book 3)

by Al K. Line

  "You aren't ready to know." Sasha said, back to looking damn gorgeous and perfect in every way.

  "She's my daughter. It doesn't matter if I'm ready."

  "Soon, I'll tell you soon. Do you trust me, Arthur? Me, who you saved from slavery, who you released and who is bound to you for eternity? Who gave you more life than some would say you deserve, who I have changed the way of things to accommodate? Do you trust me?"

  "Sasha, my dear, darling faery godmother. I love you and I adore you, and I thank you for all you have done. But no, I don't trust you."

  "Good, because I don't trust you either. So this will wait until I am ready to tell you. More, until you are ready to hear what I have to say."

  "I'm going to give Marjorie her walk." I may have flounced out like George, but I didn't come back and say anything else. A man's got to act like an adult sometimes.

  Truth and Heartache

  I've been sad many times in my life. I mean really sad, when you feel like your guts are being pulled out slowly and stomped on. There have been times when I've huddled in corners and wept, great gut-wrenching sobs that racked my whole body. When tears streamed down my face yet I was so low and distraught the thought of wiping them away seemed an impossibility.

  Friends have died, or betrayed me, lovers have done the same. It all left a mark and it all fed in to make me the person I have become. My personality and views and opinions changed day by day as I waded through the mire of human existence, sometimes laughing and exalting with the good people have inside, other times despairing of the depths to which they can sink.

  At this point in time I'd been betrayed by family, murdered by friends, tortured by enemies, and generally abused, but none of that made me feel as sad as I did now. The beatings were easy, the emotional torture impossible to bear, and the things done to me by those I loved so dearly still cut deep if I let the memories surface, which I seldom did.

  But this, this was on a whole other level.

  I'd taken Marjorie for a slow stroll around the courtyard—she was braying and kicking the barn door to be let out and she went wild when she saw me. I put on the halter and let her wander around the cobbles for a while, smiling as I watched her ears twitch like they'd taken on sentience and were ready to start a life somewhere else.

  But she kept baring her teeth and her legs seemed uncoordinated, as if she was frisky, but I knew the old gal was well past such delights, like someone else I knew, more's the pity.

  We chatted about this and that, the conversation as one-sided as always, but we liked it that way. It was a familiar routine and allowed us to catch up on what the other had been doing, my news always more interesting than hers. Suddenly she stopped and dipped her head a little, staring at me with these huge eyes of hers, the long lashes making her look beautiful, and I mean that.

  "What is it girl? You doing okay?"

  Marjorie held my gaze for the longest time and then she bared her teeth again, the lips pulling back so it looked like she was smiling.

  "What's so funny? You got a joke to tell me?"

  She let out a strange sound, like something was inside and shaking, and the bottom fell out of my world.

  Not wanting her to see, I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and said quietly, "Come on, girl, lets get you back inside." She lowered her head as if nodding, then looked at me again before she turned without me prompting and carefully, and very slowly, made her own way back to the barn while I walked alongside her, the rope clipped to the halter trailing behind her.

  My chest hurt, my hands shook, and my legs had gone all wobbly but I followed her in. No sooner had I done so than she collapsed onto the straw, head resting on her favorite spot where the bedding was always piled up high.

  Her death rattle had taken me by surprise even though it shouldn't have. She was old now, almost thirty, and had been with me for over a decade. I got her from a rescue center when I bought the farm and she was as much a part of the place as I was. She'd had a hard life, but the sanctuary was nice, and when I saw her it was love at first sight. She came home with me and hadn't left since.

  Marjorie knew all my problems, never interrupted or made fun of me. She listened to me rant, listened to me when I was happy or sad. This scruffy donkey was a sounding board, allowing me to work through my problems, and all she ever asked for in return were a few apples or carrots and a walk. A true friend in every sense.

  But age steals over us all in the night, working its spell, slowly chipping away at frail carbon-based life, and Marjorie had had enough of this life for now. She was weary, wanted to rest, and yet had wanted a final taste of the world. To say goodbye to her home, to the sky and fields and birds. And me.

  Now it was time for her to go, and with my heart breaking and my tears unstoppable I knelt in the straw and stroked her head gently as her eyes closed. Her breathing was slow and wheezy and she rested awhile as I spoke to her of the things we'd done and the good times we'd had. Laughing about the time she'd taken a chicken for a ride, and me reminding her about the time she kicked me in the shin and I had to use all my magic to repair the fracture to my leg.

  Her eyes opened and I could tell she was almost gone, that she was fading fast. She blinked once then they closed for the last time.

  I must have lost the plot a little then because I don't know how long I lay there, cuddling her head and talking to her. She was my best buddy and I hadn't even realized. I'd taken her for granted, just assumed she'd always be there even though I knew when I got her the best years were already behind her but not wanting to dwell on such things.

  At some point I fell asleep, and when I awoke the day had turned cold and so had Marjorie. I covered her in her favorite blanket then stood at the barn door, looking at her.

  "Goodbye, old friend. The place won't be the same without you."

  I walked away, left my friend, and felt so fucking sad I couldn't believe it. She was big on personality, one of the family, and now she was gone.

  Sometimes this world is a terrible place, but there would be no sadness without the good times, the fond memories and the happiness that goes with it. There's always a price to pay though, there's a price to pay for everything.

  Wiping my eyes, I stepped into the house, took off my boots, and wandered into the kitchen.

  A Loving Family

  "What's the matter?" Sasha was the first to see me as I entered as she was standing. George had her back to me, and Vicky was chatting about something or other.

  "It's Marjorie. She's dead."

  George's head snapped around and when I saw her face fall I kind of fell apart. I stumbled over to her and as she stood we hugged. She cried into my chest and I squeezed her tight. She sobbed and sobbed and then Vicky and Sasha came and hugged us and we cried some more.

  Marjorie had been the one constant in George's life apart from me for the past few years. Part of her home. Her new, safe, permanent life. Where things were familiar but wild, but one thing that was always a stalwart, always the same, always reliable, was Marjorie.

  "I'm sorry, Arthur. You poor thing, George, I know how much she meant to you both." Vicky pulled several tissues from up her sleeve and wiped at our eyes. We let her, as if we were both little kids and wanted our mom. I guess that's the truth of it, we did both want a mom that cared for us and would look after us and make things better.

  "She was a dear," said Sasha, her hand moving to rest on George's head.

  "Don't," I whispered.

  "You sure?" asked Sasha.

  "Yes, especially without asking."

  Sasha was about to do what she thought best, to take away the edge of hurt and deep sadness from George, but it wasn't her right to do so. Some emotions are to be experienced to the fullest, for only with grieving can you tell the spirits how much you care. It was their right, what they deserved, to be sent on their way with love and the full depth of human emotion behind them, helping them pass smoothly through the afterlife until they could finally rest.

&nbs
p; Nothing more was said for a time, but slowly we moved apart and each became lost to private thoughts. George was taking it well, but hard, and I was even worse. I couldn't believe how deep the loss went. People had died around me ever since I could remember, but this was something else. This was deeper, rawer, and I still don't know if that made me good deep down, or bad for caring more about a donkey than most of the people I'd ever met in my life up to that point.

  We told a few funny stories about the old gal, about the daft things she'd done and how naughty she was when a little friskier, and gradually the mood lightened. Undercurrents of terrible, almost savage sadness remained but forcing ourselves to recall the good rather than dwell on the end was cathartic.

  I knew in my mind that this happened to us all, that it was just part and parcel of this thing we call life. On an intellectual level that made sense, but on an emotional one, not so much.

  I called the vets from the den, not wanting George to hear. Someone would come around and take Marjorie away, cremate her.

  Back in the kitchen Vicky said, "I'm so sorry, but I have to go. The kids will be out of school soon."

  "Of course, I'll get my keys," I said.

  "I'll take her," said Sasha.

  "You sure? Can you, er, do that?"

  "I can use your gates, yes. The wards that protect the way are as much my design as yours, Arthur, not a problem."

  "Okay, thanks."

  Vicky hugged us both, Sasha smiled, and then they were gone.

  George and I talked a while longer and then the vet arrived. I went to deal with her and the whole thing left me hollow inside. Disposing of such a large animal is no easy matter, and it wasn't a pretty sight the way she was taken away. But I watched anyway, talking to Marjorie silently, telling her this was no ignominy as her body was unimportant now, just flesh and bone, not her.

  Still, it left a bad taste in my mouth, to see her hauled off like that.

  When I got back inside George was slumped over the table, asleep.

  I woke her and walked her upstairs to bed. It was only mid-afternoon but stress like this takes such an emotional toll that your body shuts down, does anything it can to blank out the pain and find a way to process it.

  George was asleep as soon as I'd tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. All I could think was that this was the first time I'd ever tucked her in and done such a thing. All those years I'd missed out on, reading her a story at bedtime. I had her now, that was enough.

  I barely made it to my own bed, almost on my knees as grief enveloped me. I crawled under the covers, lay with my head on the cool pillow, and said a final farewell to my old friend.

  Oblivion descended and I welcomed it with my aching body and my weary soul.

  The Sleep of the Dead

  I shot upright, instantly awake and afraid.

  I stared around the room bathed in light, disorientated and confused. What had happened? What was the emergency? I listened but there was nothing, just the chickens outside and my own heavy breathing. My skin was clammy, covered in sweat, but I remembered no dreams. I probably hadn't been asleep long enough.

  Glancing at my watch I grew further confused. Nine? That couldn't be right. If it was nine at night it would be getting dark and the chickens certainly wouldn't be out, and it didn't feel like that time. I got up and glanced outside to see George pushing a wheelbarrow from Marjorie's barn. Chickens clucked around her feet and the pig and her piglets grunted and snuffled as George wandered past.

  "Morning? No way." That would mean I'd slept for what, seventeen hours or something? I never slept for seven, ever, let alone this long.

  The thought of it made me sick. Guilt washed over me, a stinking sewer full of shame. How could I have sunk into such extended oblivion after Marjorie had left us? It was insulting to have had the best night's sleep I'd had since I was a young boy and all because of the grief. Was that wrong? It felt wrong.

  What made me cringe further was that I felt so damn good. My body felt years younger, lighter and energized in a way I hadn't even known had been missing. Was this what it was like to be truly rested? Guess so. Deep sadness was still present but it had faded a little already, and that made me feel guilty and shamed for not feeling desolate and utterly depressed. Just goes to show how screwed up the human mind is. Or maybe it was just me?

  New Beginnings

  I showered and dressed with a clarity of mind I'd forgotten existed, then topped up my magic although it hardly took any time at all—I sank easily into the Quiet Place and came out of it practically bursting with magic, wondering if I was leaking. Knowing he'd be worried, I called Ivan and when he didn't answer I left a message.

  Did he mostly sleep through the day now, only come out at night unless for very important business? How quickly did that kind of change happen? Instantly? Days or weeks? Anyway, I left a message telling him what had happened and that I had a lead, but kept details of what I thought Avisha might have been involved in to myself.

  Had he already explored this? Did he know such things existed? He must do, must have, but then again maybe not. Or maybe he'd looked and hadn't found her. I decided it best not to ask, to do my own investigating and see where it led. I had a hunch, a feeling this would lead me to her one way or another, but wondered about Ivan's lack of searching as I intended to do.

  I smacked myself on the cheek for being a muppet. What was wrong with me? He may have been moving heaven and earth to find his sister, had every brothel and dodgy place in the city searched to no avail, but infiltrating the shifter world, let alone that of cage fighting, was another matter entirely. It wasn't his business, hadn't been Merrick's as far as he or anybody else knew. He'd certainly done all he could to get answers from Merrick's men, the bodies made that clear, but no way could he go into someone else's territory and expect to be given anything but silence if he was lucky, a bullet to the head if he wasn't.

  Only a select few, and the vamps of course, even knew he was a vampire. The other bosses certainly didn't know, wouldn't believe it anyway, same as most refused to believe in magic. No, he knew Avisha might be involved in this seedy subculture but couldn't get into it, would be spotted a mile off. So he'd asked me, knowing I'd latch on to the shifter aspect. Hell, he'd given me enough signs. Getting Steve to act as middleman, talking about her ferocity and her fighting prowess as a youngster, I'd just been slow on the uptake, ignored the obvious hints.

  So, once again, I was being used, led along because someone else wanted me to act a certain way. He could have just said, but maybe then I'd have taken a different approach and dismissed it, or maybe he truly hadn't considered this and my imagination was just running wild.

  Like it mattered. I was onto something; this was the answer. I'd find out what happened to Avisha one way or another. Whether he was playing me a little or not, I owed him, and this girl, this woman now, was his family, his only link to his past. Finding her was important. Not only did he deserve to know what had happened, but if he was reunited with her then it might ground him, give him a sense of perspective. And that was no bad thing when the man I was helping was a powerful vampire and the boss of the local underworld.

  But first things first, and it was with a heavy heart, my emotions roiling, torn between feeling great for the rest I'd had and terrible for the loss of Marjorie, that I went downstairs, started the coffee machine, then put my boots on to go check on George.

  Worries and Concerns

  George came marching out of Marjorie's barn, pushing a wheelbarrow full of straw like it would burst into flames if she didn't shift it fast. She had that determined look to her, her face set hard, her shoulders thrust back and her spine ramrod straight. I knew it only to well, I did it myself. It was what we did when we wanted to curl up in a ball and cry but wouldn't give in to it. Because we were fighters and we wouldn't be beaten down, not even by our own emotions.

  The tears were shed, the loss complete, now there was nothing left but to carry on and keep our dear dep
arted close in our hearts. I took one look past George into the almost empty stable and began to cry. Yeah, so much for the tough gangster.

  George spotted me and dropped the wheelbarrow with a clang that echoed around the courtyard and chickens scattered. The pig oinked, her litter hid behind her in their pen, and even though I knew it wouldn't happen I still expected Marjorie to bray at the loud noise. There was an emptiness to the sound of the farm, a gap where the old gal's moans should have been.

  I brushed my eyes and smiled but George ran over and hugged me. Then she started crying too, and so I started again, and for a few minutes we said nothing, just clung to each other. Finally we pulled apart.

  "What you doing?" I asked lamely.

  "Cleaning out the stable. I couldn't bear to think of it being empty, so I'm clearing everything. Then I'll give it a proper scrub, and then..."

  "We could get a goat, or an alpaca. That's what all the hipsters are doing now."

  "Don't be a dick!" George punched my arm playfully; it hurt like hell. Damn, when did she become so strong?

  "Ow. That's parental abuse that is. They lock you up and make you watch reruns of Neighbors if you beat your parents."

  "Hey, I like watching reruns of Neighbors."

  I peered into the strange, moist green eyes of my beautiful daughter, looking for the joke. "Nope, don't get it. You mean you actually do?"

  "Yup. Hey, how did you sleep? I crashed and slept for like a gazillion hours. Bet you did too, right?"

  "I did. I feel terrible for sleeping like a baby after Marjorie... Seems wrong."

  "Dad, it's stress, proper stress. And besides, you needed it. All this running about like a nutter with Vicky in tow, it's no wonder this hit you so hard. Poor Marjorie, seems weird with her not here."

  We both glanced back at the barn then shook our heads as the tears formed. "Right, you want a hand?"

  "Nope, I got this. Be in soon. Make us a cuppa and I'll just finish off."